The Dark Side of Desire
by Scribe Teradia
Summary: VERY dark fic, nothing explicit but rape and chardeath is implied. Rated M for a reason. OneShot


**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything Harry Potter. He belongs to J.K. Rowling, and so do Malfoy and Hermione. This twisted bit of storytelling is all mine, however.

**Author's Note:** This fic is rated M for implied rape and chardeath, and it is very, very dark, but there is nothing explicit. It was inspired by an article I read about desire, and the vast number of poorly-written fanfics in which Draco and Hermione fall madly in love (which is, frankly, way OOC for both of them). Turn back now if you're looking for a bit of fluff, because this isn't it.

**The Dark Side of Desire**

**By Scribe Teradia**

Rain poured down from the heavens, partially obscuring my view of her. I couldn't risk moving closer, though, without being noticed for it, and so I waited, motionless, for the downpour to let up or the woman to move. The latter came first.

It hadn't been raining for long, but the ground was already soft from it, and I heard squelching noises from underfoot as I walked along the fringes of the crowd, heading in a direction that would take me closer to her. There was little to distinguish her from anyone else in the crowd, and I might have lost her if I hadn't been so familiar with the smallest of her mannerisms, even from a distance.

When she broke free of the crowd at last, I was close enough to touch her, and so I did, taking hold of her elbow. I said her name, and my voice was calm, giving nothing away as she spun and looked at me.

Her voice was music to my ears, though I couldn't begin to fathom why, as there was certainly nothing welcoming in her tone, and I barely registered her words. I met her gaze, her brown eyes full of emotion, and felt as though I was drowning in them. She jerked her arm away and drew her wand in the same motion, and I knew even before I heard the sound of her Apparation that she was escaping me again.

--

Later, standing under an awning, out of the rain, I observed her through a window and reflected on what had gone wrong. Too soon, perhaps, to approach her, to make my presence known, certain. Or perhaps I should have been more aggressive, more assertive, rather than let her go so quickly. A mistake, to be sure, and one that I wouldn't repeat.

To pinpoint the exact moment of the beginning would be folly. I'd been aware of her, in some fashion, for years, and it was impossible to tell exactly when that awareness had changed. I only knew that it did, and with it so did I. By the time I'd realized the change, I was too far gone, reduced to skulking in shadows for the merest glimpse of her, and it took weeks, months, years to build up the courage to touch her as I had today.

A mistake, yes, that touch, in more ways than one; that brief moment of contact was enough to set flame to the desire that had been kindled in me years ago. I could feel it, throughout the whole of my body, this need for her, inexplicable and undeniable, and I knew that I would do whatever I had to in order to have her. I had tipped my hand, earlier, but not so much that she would be expecting anything from me, but my chances were already few and far between, and if I didn't seize the next opportunity I risked losing her for good.

Through the window, across the street, I saw her move, and then the light went out, and the darkness was complete. Now it was time.

--

She made so little noise when I appeared beside her that I was almost disappointed. It wasn't until I touched her again, my arms securely wrapped around her, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against mine, that she started to speak, and her voice brought a smile to my lips. I crooned something at her, and then took her away with me.

The room had required special preparation, and taken most of what was left of my inheritance, but it was worth the cost to see her reaction to it. Her eyes widened, and I could see she had fathomed my intent at last, understanding dawning in those warm brown orbs. She begged for me to bind her even as I did so, her voice pleading with me, but I refused to be hurried. Too much work, too much time, had led to this moment, and I knew it wouldn't -- no/couldn't/ -- happen again.

I took my time with her, undressing and exploring, filling all five of my senses with her. I memorized every line, every curve, became intoxicated by her pleas, her cries, her scent, her taste, until I was full to bursting. There was no sense of time passing, though it surely did, and by the time I was finally spent my entire body ached, no longer from wanting her but in pleasant satisfaction. I'd wanted to possess her, burned with need for her, and I was used to taking what I wanted if there was no other way.

How they found us, I'll never know, though I have some vague recollection of the words 'tracking device'. One moment, I was basking in blissful afterglow, and the next my vision was obscured by the red light of a Stupefy. When I awoke, she was gone, and I was in hell.

--

The memory faded back into the Pensieve, and for a good thirty seconds the courtroom was so silent one could hear a pin drop. No one among the assembly moved, though there were tears on some faces, and outright horror etched on others. Then a voice boomed from the assembled Wizengamot, "Draco Malfoy, you are charged with the rape and murder of one Hermione Granger. How do you plead?"

My mind recoiled from the accusations, protesting. She had been willing! And alive, when last I saw her. They had dosed me with Veritaserum, beforehand, to make sure I spoke the truth, and I was sure of my innocence, but I betrayed myself in the end. "Guil-ty." My throat was dry, and my voice cracked, but I was too shocked at myself to care.

Words were spoken, overhead, and memory finally returned in full. Tears. Screams. Blood. In my desire to possess her I had done this thing, this vile and horrible thing, and some part of me had known, when the rest of my self was in denial.

A sentence was read, but most of it was couched in legal phrases that had no meaning to me. There was an upoar in the courtroom, but I had long since stopped paying attention to it. Life in Azkaban. Death, I had expected, but life? To live out the rest of my days in hell, with her memory in my head? It was too much to bear, and I lunged at the nearest Auror, thinking to provoke one of them into killing me outright, but they were well-trained, and my world went red again.

--

Tears. Screams. Blood. Day and night, night and day, without end. Sleep brings no respite, nor does waking, her presence remains with me, a lead weight on my chest that grows steadily until I feel sure it will crush me. I wanted her, desired her, and ultimately possessed her, but now I am the one possessed, captive by more than just these four stone walls, held prisoner by her memory.The caretakers of the prison ensure that I am well cared for, in body, the better to live out my sentence, chained to a shade of my own making. Death, if it ever comes, will be a welcome relief from the constant horror I unwittingly unleashed on myself, all for a single moment of passion. This, then, is true justice.

--

_Fin._


End file.
